


mesmerizing, hypnotizing

by Val_Creative



Series: GoT Drabble-Palooza 2019 [51]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Fantasizing, First Meetings, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage, King's Landing, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Older Characters, Post-Canon, Quentyn Martell is the Unnamed Prince of Dorne, Quintuple Drabble, Romantic Friendship, Season/Series 08, Sexual Content, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Westerosi Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 09:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18937999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/pseuds/Val_Creative
Summary: Once the Great Council declares Brandon Stark their king, Prince Quentyn Martell finds himself lingering away from the rest. He introduces himself to Lord Robin Arryn, finding him to be whimsical beneath the neutral exterior.





	mesmerizing, hypnotizing

**Author's Note:**

> Requested by lottiebear: "Robin Arryn/Any. He's older and not a brat anymore." I haven't been able to function since the series finale. ALSO NOW MY BRAIN IS FULL OF CRACKSHIPS. I started on this fic a while back and I scrapped my original idea for it when the last episode aired and started over quickly. I wanted to do something instead for my new crackship Robin/Quentyn so here we go! Hope it was entertaining! Thank you so much and any comments/thoughts are appreciated!

 

 

*

Once the Great Council declares Brandon Stark their king, Quentyn finds himself lingering on the outskirts, excusing himself out of the middle of a heated talk with Yara Greyjoy. Her heart still longs for their queen and her dead brother. He understands.

"Have you ever been to King's Landing?"

He approaches a young man gazing out solemnly to the ruins of the Dragonpit. Brown, hair, brown eyes. Overly pale. Pale blue garb with sleeves like wings. Quentyn has never thought himself particularly brave, but he deliberately leaves out the formality of _my lord_ to gauge the response. "I was born here," Robin Arryn murmurs, not looking at him. "But my mother raised me in the Vale."

Not dismissive, but not earnest. Quentyn studies him, putting himself about six or seven name-days older than him. "I spend all my life in Dorne. My uncle died here. I thought I could never be welcomed to such a place."

Robin's eyes finally stare to him, growing wider.

"I've never left the Vale before," he admits breathlessly. Like Robin has been caught telling a secret.

"Seems we have something in common, my lord." Quentyn's lips tilt up. "Tell me… what was your mother like?"

For a moment, the bright, gleeful light in Robin's smile extinguishes.

"Heartsick," he says, nodding courteously when the other man steps in nearer, their elbows brushing. The gilded threads in Quentyn's orange robes twinkling. "She never got past her grief. And the man who married her after my father… Littlefinger plotted to kill my mother and my father and succeeded."

"You are still here, Lord Arryn," Quentyn reminds him, softly reassuring. "The gods are good."

" _Robin_ … " A flush of pink warms him, as the younger man gestures his arm. Robin's hand in his. "If it pleases you."

"Quentyn Martell. Prince of Dorne."

"Is it true what they say about Dorne?" Robin asks excitably, letting go of Quentyn's arm. As touching as his display of innocence and spirit is, Quentyn fears the worst. He braces himself for whatever rot they've taught him. "… Does it _never_ snow?"

A loud, disbelieving laugh. So loud that it almost startles Quentyn himself.

"Never."

"I hate the cold," Robin says, beaming. Gods.

There's most certainly something magnificent and _terrible_ about him.

Quentyn's hand lifts, his light brown fingers clenching gently under Robin's chin. Quentyn imagines him in loose, lemon-coloured silks and with a little more flushing colour to Robin, prancing half-naked on the grounds of the Old Palace. Dining on creamcakes and tarts and strongwine as dark as blood. Lying upon the bedding of a curtained, moving palanquin, whimpering noisily as Quentyn's cock fucked him roughly.

But it's only an imagining. He's no _Oberyn_.

"We would be glad to have you at Sunspear, my Lord Robin," Quentyn whispers. "Dorne is the most beautiful place in the world. We paint our silks and our towers reach to the clouds. Like your own. Would you like to see it?"

Robin's mouth opens, grazing to Quentyn's thumb.

" _Very much_."

*

 


End file.
